


The EmCee & Sally's Fires

by OhBelieveYouMe



Category: Cabaret (1972), Cabaret - Kander/Ebb
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Nazi mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhBelieveYouMe/pseuds/OhBelieveYouMe
Summary: And despite every bridge she left as ashes, The grand Master of Ceremonies was always there to nurse her wounded heart; even if he ended up being the one burned.





	The EmCee & Sally's Fires

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [@larkistin](https://larkistin.tumblr.com/) based on a prompt she gave me.

“Daaaarling, you really MUST learn to ring;” He was joking, she knew it, but nobody else would have. Nobody really ever knew what he was thinking, the context in his world. It was as if life itself were a play; but only he could hear the score, so only he could appropriately plan the steps. “I could be busy inside someone’s knickers, yet you trot right in, tip tap tip,” his head rocked to and fro while imitating the sound of her shoes- “you’d be scarred for life if you saw the things I do in the glorious solitude of these walls…”

Finally, he sincerely regarded her, while stretching one arm high up the door frame and leaning dreamily against the wood.  
The poor thing really did look affright…

A distraught Sally was not all that uncommon. She was often upset, likely due to situations she crafted for herself; depending on the kindness of others was a really poor plan when you hadn’t got the angelic aura benevolent strangers would flock towards. Oh no, she was so little sweet and so very much sour, more likely to attract lost boys or men looking for a handmaid more than a mistress…

But, then again; even a cabaret girl prancing about in lace and feathers didn’t deserve the abuse that was far too obvious.

“W _ellll_ , what happened to you?” It would have been even more odd for him to embrace her, so immediately at least. Instead, The great EmCee of the Kit Kat Klub chewed recklessly on the end of his cigarette, mostly obscuring the point of even having it to puff on. His face may not show his agitation, but his teeth managed just find.

“Em, please;” to add to the growing list of oddities, her voice was trembling. Not in that coy and cute way she used to find a bed for the evening ( _or, month, if she’s lucky_ ). Oh no- she was beyond terrified, still periodically gazing over her shoulder, more like a bird whose wings had already been caught after failing to escape the cat. “I’m desperate and-” flinching, Sally leaned against the door frame as well; shot him a crimson pout that was painted up with blood instead of lipstick. 

Slowly, he drug his thumb across her swollen lip, watched her wince when he hit a cut. “That’s an awful color on you, dear.” Out of the little kindness left in his tired being, he bent for her, used a single arm to slither under hers so she wouldn’t manage to slump further down the shared frame. “What happened?” His voice, it faltered, just as her knees did once she was convinced his facade had successfully fallen. “You look worse than you do after too much coke, and darling let me tell you, you are a _mess_ when you sniff up too much.”

The insult didn’t seem quite necessary, but his tugging to help her past the threshold was just kind enough to counteract it. He complimented her, and compl _e_ mented her, plenty on stage- no need for all those niceties if he was at least welcoming her in. “That fella, the one I left with, you remember him-” she paused when he made a dramatic gagging noise, perked a brow as he lolled out his tongue and let the cigarette fall to the floor. Apparently, he did indeed remember him.

The cherry on the smoke had already gone out, but she stomped at the leftovers with the toes of her heel anyway. Overkill, dramatics.

Oh, and at the subtle concern despite his scorn, The EmCee let out a snort. “Don’t you be worrying about _myyyy_ fires, dear; you’ve obviously sparked your own.”

“He started it, not me!” She whimpered and whined; as soon as her voice took that annoyingly high pitch he unfurled his arm from around her and let her throw herself to a nearby chair. Dramatics? Typical. How she winced when trying to lounge over the back of the chair- not so much. “It started nice enough,” he didn’t appear to be listening, but she went on anyway, while he fished through a drawer in search of… something. “He was sweet, offered to get me food, I thought- oh a dinner! How lovely!”

The EmCee let out a loud choking noise, followed by an imitation of him retching. “The fact that you can sniff these fools out in a crowd is much more impressive than the kicks you do on stage, Salllllly Bowles.”

Ignoring him, her tale continued, though she did keep one eye opened while hiding the other behind her hand- to watch where he wandered off to with that bottle of gin he had conjured. “But he wasn’t lovely, Em, not at all-”

“Ya know what is lovely?” A sharp, hefty swig of his little bottle. Hopefully, Sally outstretched an arm towards him, praying his lazy kindness would hold out long enough to offer her a drink. Instead, he held the glass by the neck and wagged it to-and-fro just out of reach of her wiggling fingertips. “Sleep. Which _youuu_ interrupted.”

“Anyways;” unconcerned with his not-even-real problem ( _in her eyes, at least_ ), she hiked a leg high, tucked up the bottom of her skirt. “We got into a tiff, over nothing really-“ seriously, what kind of man gets mad at a girl being too kindly with a bartender? How else did anyone expect to get prompt refills? “And Em, he snagged at me, ripped up my garter.”

Ripped her garter? Were they the ones she wore on stage, those nice ones?! Well, now she certainly had his attention. “The brute!” He bent at the waist, finally gifting her a share of his gin while he stared in disgust and the torn lace barely dangling from the elastic around her thigh. “Does he not know what those damned things cost? Just last week Helga tore hers and I’d never seen the poor flower cry so much-“

Finally, sympathy, Sally let slip a tear and welcomed the attention. She wasn’t too concerned about Helga or her garter, not with her own split lip getting burned by the alcohol. “Oh, I can barely even bring myself to drink,” she tossed a wrist over her eyes, but somehow miraculously managed a few more heavy chugs before The EmCee snatched his gin back from her.

“And why would your dear friend be tearing up your lingerie?” His eyes rolled, honestly it was only for the imagination to wonder. The conversation was growing boring, though, so he figured he may as well help it along. Playing Sally’s game was likely the only way he’d ever manage to get his beauty rest, after all. “And bruising up your face, that’ll take quite a bit of rouge to cover…”

Poor Sally sniffled, and knowingly dove towards a nearby drawer to fetch a mirror amongst his other makeup accessories. Delicately, she examined her reflection, let out a half-hearted whine when she noticed how awful she really appeared. “He was upset, apparently I hadn’t been _generous_  enough for him,” she set down the mirror, pushed it far away from her so she wouldn’t be tempted to go after it again. “I was just flirting a bit with the bartender, he had said he was married, I didn’t think it’d be a bother.”

“You probably hurt his ego more than his heart-” That was the real reason any _man_  would lose his head like that, isn’t it? Carefully, he took hold of her chin, craned her face upwards so she would be forced to find his stare. “Lay with dogs and get fleas,” dramatically, he plumped out his bottom lip to pout at her; “play too rough with ‘em and you get bit.”

Actual tears, sincere and sad, fell from the corners of her eyes. “Em, I got bit…”

Her friend only nodded, gave himself another chug of gin, then let go of her face so he could condescendingly pitter-pat fingertips against her cheek. “Well, instead of being a naughty kitty-kat, perhaps next time you’ll wait for a gentleman instead of a hound.”

The facade finally fell, and meek Sally curled fingers around his wrist to pull him nearer. Kindly, The EmCee allowed it, even bent at the waist to leave an innocent kiss on her forehead. “Em, can I stay? Just tonight?” She was begging, whispering, knowing there was a high chance he’d refuse her. “I won’t be a bother, I’ll find somewhere else after the show tomorrow.”

Typically, he wouldn’t want to encourage her; but now, it was quite apparent that her woes were much more ‘real’ than the ones in her fantasy world. “I suppose there’s room for a loose Tom Cat to snuggle up,” to concrete his next point, he wagged a finger in her face, flicking her nose and making her jump. “But you’re gone tomorrow, you hear me? Having an extra lady flitting around only helps my carnal cause when things are already _freaky_ , I don’t need you cramping my style-”

Before he could finish berating her, she lunged; curled thankful, thin arms around his shoulders as they tumbled to his hardwood floor. He laughed, joyously, as she peppered his jaw and throat with kisses of gratitude. “Thank you, Em, you’re the best thing to happen to me-”

And for once, he honestly felt like he could believe her…

* * *

The next night, in the midst of a number and with his arms coiled around Lulu’s waist- The EmCee broke into raucous, unplanned laughter. Bewildered, the girls continued on, deciding not to break routine just because their ringleader had done so ( _nobody wanted to hear him berate them, after all_ ). 

“And it is YOU!” Boldly, his arm shot out, so he could point directly at a sorry sap who jumped once the spotlight smartly followed the unexpected prompt.

It was Sally’s date from the night before. He recognized him.

“Tell me, Sir, which lady shall you pummel this evening?” The EmCee’s arms spread out, he splayed fingers to try and point out each of the confused girls stumbling over their own heels as the music struggled to shift with him. “Isn’t it much more fun to pick on someone your own size, or does hitting at _girls_ make you feel bolder? Perhaps Texas could give you a good run,” before she could scurry away, which all the others eagerly did, he threw an arm over her so he could trace fingertips along her opposite shoulder. “Haven’t you heard what those Am _errr_ icans say!?” As if he were sharing a secret instead of a joke, he slid his hand alongside his lips, then proceeded to holler after a wink; “ **eeeeveryyythiiinggg is bigger _in Texas_.** ” Oh, the audience roared, but the recipient of the tag line certainly did not appear amused. “Maybe you can feel tougher with her than you could with rouge and face powder caked on your knuckles, eh?”

The accused rose to his feet; and with the spotlight pinned so precisely upon him- it was only then The EmCee noticed the crimson band around his arm, damning swastika and notably ebony jacket obvious… and the little silver skull shining back at him. It would have been smart to retract his previous comments, or even to continue on with the show and allow the ordeal to smoothly pass- sweet Helga gave a tug at ther frozen leader’s suspenders in an effort to guide him along. This was as good as calling the reaper…

Again, standing his ground on the stage he owned, The grand EmCee aimed his stare and fingertip towards the now-revealed member of the Schutzstaffel… The Goddamned SS. “We leave our troubles,” The point slid daringly towards the entrance; “OUTSIDE!” Both arms now, outstretched towards him; “and alllll you arrreeeeee- is _trouble_.” Long fingers curled, and The EmCee held that hand high up into the air to wave his goodbyes to the now-retreating source of the spectacle he had caused; “Auf Wiedersehen!” Shouting, over the restarting trumpets, over the whimpers from his girls flocking to his side, “Au Revoir! Goodbye,” to add insult to injury, he used only his middle finger, and finished his adieus with a salute; “Sir!”

The orchestra desperately played on; praying The Master of Ceremonies would follow their cue. He did, only after watching with a bold sneer as the soldier escorted himself from the Kit Kat Klub. Life, the show, it all came pouring back into his existence, and though he trembled- The EmCee spun to grab hold of two ladies and skipped his way through a back stage door.

Awaiting him, just on the other side, was a shivering Sally- still awestruck that he’d have gone through so much trouble just to make sure she wouldn’t have to face her abuser before her song came on. Quickly, she reached for him, curled thin fingers around his wrist to interrupt his prancing; “Em, I-”

Interrupting whatever would be coming, be it apology or thanks, The EmCee snagged the cigarette she had between her lips and stole it for himself. A couple royal puffs, and rough chomps to attempt and disguise his clenched jaw. If she didn’t know better, which now Sally wasn’t quite so sure, she’d think he looked petrified.

“Don’t miss your goddamn cue,” he exhaled smoke in her face; she bit back the temptation to kiss his ivory cheek- “make it fuckin’ worth it, darling.” The cigarette was spat at her feet, and this time, he stomped out the cherry with the heel of his shoe… 

That one was _his_  fire to put out. Even if she had sparked it…

 

**Author's Note:**

> Screenshots captured by [@larkistin](https://larkistin.tumblr.com/).


End file.
